


When crooks laugh

by enmity



Category: Shin Megami Tensei Series, Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, lowkey disgusting thoughts (thanks isamu)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enmity/pseuds/enmity
Summary: Because, again: it’s Chiaki. You can’t find a closer approximation to a human porcelain doll anywhere.





	When crooks laugh

**Author's Note:**

> today is my sister's birthday and she's the most hetero person i know, so i wrote this with her in mind. even though as usual i can't write romance. 
> 
> anyway don't take this too seriously

So, anyways, Chiaki’s room. He’s in it. Isamu strides confidently past the doorway and sits on her bed – all fluffy and princess-like, figures; the mattress yields way too easily to be comfortable – and grins when her eyes widen in offense, because he’s exactly that kind of person and it’s _Chiaki_ , besides, so he pretends to forget that it’s not exactly normal for a teenage girl to inspire that kind of effortless terror in him with just a frown and a batting of her perfectly curled eyelashes. He won’t let it show, of course, because he’s better than that. Obviously.

Her house is pretty much a mansion, but her room, nestled at the end of a long corridor, is smaller than he expects. She’s got her fluffy carpet and lacy curtains and her complicated books all set up neat and tidy by her desk, clearly a desperate compulsion to impress; there’s a wussy-looking stuffed bear leaning against her pillow and he vaguely contemplates yanking the thing by its neck for the novelty value of seeing her _react_ , but then he considers the safety of his future children, and reconsiders.

Her parents are home and he’s not even sure how he got past them, because her mother saw him come in through the front door and she’s seen him around enough to recognize him; there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head that wants to overanalyze the implications of them apparently _not caring_ that he’s here, but Isamu would rather use the moment to take in how marvelously fucked up and downright unfair the whole situation is, because he’s in a teenage girl’s room and the experience so far has been underwhelming at best.

Because, again: it’s Chiaki. You can’t find a closer approximation to a human porcelain doll anywhere. Pretty, with an okay bust, but with an attitude that frigid – like she’s got a stony, dead thing instead of whatever crucial part it is that makes girls _appealing_ – and besides she’d probably groan and complain all the while, even as he’s doing all the work… and Isamu shudders a little at the mental image. Who’d settle for _that_?

At least her bed is pretty big, he thinks vaguely, even if the sheets downright stink of something girly and flowery. He runs his hand over the duvet and concludes that it’s too soft. When Isamu blinks up at her, Chiaki’s arms are crossed, her chin hiked up in that way that makes him want to tell her that, newsflash, she’s not as hot as she thinks all that haughtiness is worth, or— or, well, something. Whatever, there’s always something when it’s with her. It barely registers at this point.

He wishes Naoki were here right now, because if he were here to witness it she’d probably think twice before carefully stepping forward and treading on Isamu’s toes, with her face still frozen in that glassy, uninterested look of hers that communicates nothing other than the simple fact that she can’t expend the effort to care. Her cheeks don’t even redden.  

“Ow!” Isamu yelps, despite himself, and drops the obnoxious smile. “Jeez, calm down. I’m just here to tell you Naoki can’t make it. The dumbass called and told me he got a head cold, I’m just relaying the message so you won’t wait for two hours for your _date_ to come.”    

“He could’ve called _me_ ,” Chiaki says, completely sidestepping his emphasis on the word _date_. “You, too. Why come all the way here? Is this some kind of prank?” she accuses. “Honestly, Isamu. You should put your time to better use.”

He shrugs, easy. “Takao-sensei’s still sick, so that’s my plans for the weekend down the drain. And I was looking forward to the movie, too, so… not that this is in any way ideal, don’t get me wrong, but, we might as well, right?”

She gives him a silent look that suggests something between _you shouldn’t have even tried_ , or, _she’s way out of your league_ – both sentiments he’s used to getting from her, and which he absolutely ignores, by virtue of them absolutely being not true. He’s a great guy. He gets up and doesn’t wince when he realizes his toes still hurt from when she’d stepped on them.

She uncrosses her arms, “Very well. Let’s just get going. Leave and give me a moment to fix my hair, will you?”

Isamu rolls his eyes, “Take your time; the movie doesn’t start until two hours. I know you know how much you hate waiting.”

“At least _someone_ gets it,” Chiaki replies, sounding rueful, and for a moment he’s not sure if the upturned curve of her mouth is real or not.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because she turns around, once more forgoing her precious etiquette to threaten decking Isamu in the face with one of her dictionaries if he doesn’t leave _right now_ , and that’s all it takes for him to raise his arms in mock-surrender, remembering that God, sometimes he really can’t stand this girl at all.


End file.
